


Just A Regular Coffee, Please

by spnjensenfanfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, meet fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-10-09 04:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10404036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnjensenfanfic/pseuds/spnjensenfanfic
Summary: You didn't know who Jensen Ackles was, most of it was through your obsessed best friend. That's why, when he crashed into you in the coffee shop down the street, you didn't recognize him, not really. And it wasn't until you had returned the favour the following week that you realized maybe this could be more than being covered in scalding coffee.





	1. Part 1

Ugh, today was not your day. Sure, you had your pants on straight and your hair looked passable but you had no idea what was going on, it was as though your brain was in a foggy mess and wading through it just required way more energy than you were willing to expend.  
That being said, travelling through the day in a hazy mindset had working in the past, why wouldn’t it work today? Driving to work turned out to be a piece of cake; the man who always cut you off to make his turn was right on time, you had screeched to a halt as soon as he showed up in your mirror, the old lady with her schnauzer had crossed the crosswalk right when you were almost in the clear - as per usual - and the jerk new employee had taken your parking spot… Again.  
As mediocre as work was, you enjoyed it. Working in a cubicle dulled your mind as each day passed, but you soldiered on, finding more and more reasons to keep your job. Besides, you had evenings to yourself, where you escaped into films and books to your heart’s desire, watching shows you loved and wishing for something more. Something… Magical.  
And that’s just what you got walking into your usual local coffee shop down the street for a mid-morning break, in the form of a medium latte being poured down your back on the way out the door.  
Everything was going to plan in your hazy fog of a day, nobody had spoken to you, so you could aimlessly type away and click at your computer unbothered, but nothing wakes you up from a stupor like scalding coffee streaming down your back.  
It had started out okay, the usual “just a regular coffee, please,” with a head nod from the barista who saw you there on probably all of her shifts, and vaguely registering the hot guy behind you as he stood a little too close for comfort. You got your drink in the usual 8 minutes as the understaffed employees scrambled to satisfy all their customers, waiting patiently while doodling with your finger on your thigh and your eyes unfocused and staring off into unimaginable space.  
Then, when you thought you were in the clear for human contact, the door did not pop open with a shove to your shoulder, and the man behind you who was in clearly such a rush did not notice either - as he ran into you, coffee in hand.  
Flustered and sputtering, you turned around to glare at the intruder of your foggy daydreams, only to glance upon green green eyes and a rising blush right underneath his freckled cheeks.  
“Oh no….” Came the response in a very deep gravelly tone, sounding as though your culprit had just awoken, “I’m so sorry, let me buy you a shirt.”  
“What?” Came your startled response. That was definitely unnecessary, and although this attractive male was definitely someone you wanted to look at further, it didn’t mean he needed to purchase you new clothes. Especially considering your shirt was $4.59 at a sale at your favorite tee shop last week, and his coffee was much less than that, you felt it was hardly necessary.  
So, as trying to wake yourself up more and seeming like an individual with a functioning brain, you fluttered your free hand flailingly, murmering “oh no no no, I have all the shirts at work I need because I spill all the time on everything.”  
His small smirk that graced his face and caused a slight dimple made you realize what you had just said, as your cheeks flushed red you noticed that his eyes were glowing in unspoken humour. This made you scowl, how dare he chuckle at your expense?  
You thought too soon, as he chuckled deeply to himself, glancing down and shaking his head slightly, spraying a droplet onto your cheek from his still damp blonde hair. He was pulling on your elbow with warm calloused hands, and before you knew what was happening, he had moved you away from the door so other irritated customers could get by.  
You realized then that you hadn’t really fully awoken yet, as you were allowing yourself to be pulled around by strange men. You took the opportunity to jolt yourself awake, looking around for the first time since you’d awoken that morning.  
The young barista caught your eye at that moment, waving a cloth frantically over her head as she was trying to pump some sugary substance into a concoction, trying to get your attention and still do her job. You raised your hand in response, and the dirty coffee grind covered cloth was thrown unceremoniously at your face. Your coordination skills hadn’t yet caught up with the memo that you were now awake, clearly.  
This blundering chaotic mess that you had become while trying to clean yourself from the liquid and smearing black specks of coffee all over yourself from the cloth was clearly entertaining your observer.  
“Can I do anything else for you?” You asked acidly, really not in the mood for his laughing demeanor, regardless of how delightful his throaty laugh was or how his eyes crinkled with his delighted expression.  
He blushed deeply again, excusing himself and standing in line, clearly to purchase another drink in order to get his caffeine fix. You stared after him for a moment, glancing at his back as he shuffled from foot to foot, clearly impatient. You blamed your lingering eyes on your slow brain speed. Yep, that was it. Scout’s honour.  
As you brushed down your pants for good measure, you picked up your unharmed coffee and were making your way out the door when you chanced one last glance at your stranger, to find his forest eyes staring straight back at you, and you could have sworn you’d known him from somewhere.  
But, you made your way back to the office, changing your shirt only after you’d been noticed and scolded by a peer, thinking that at least you’d never see that stranger again.  
That is, until you barreled into his back precisely three days later with a scone and a tea burying themselves into his pristine white button down.


	2. Part 2

Okay, so yes, you’ll admit you had been thinking about his deep hooded eyes and his delighted chuckle, and maybe it had chills running down your spine simply by remembering the sound, but that didn’t matter. Of course it didn’t. It couldn’t. What was the possibility of you seeing him again?  
Actually, you ran a simple test: calculated the hotels in the area and the average duration of a person’s stay in the neighborhood, checked out the housing market to see if anyone new had the possibility of moving in, and asked your hardy helpful barista how many people came to the coffee shop each day.  
0.4% chance that you would see him, you estimated. That wasn’t an awful lot. And surprisingly, you were okay with that. Yeah, you thought about his broad shoulders. And yes, you hoped to see him again. But in reality, you probably wouldn’t. And instead of letting yourself get let down day after day, you decided to forget.  
And that’s why when your blueberry scone was smearing into his back, you actually hadn’t expected it to be him.  
And that’s why as he turned around with a scowl, you were expecting a different face.  
And that’s why when his eyes lightened with recognition, you were too flustered to say anything and simply blushed at him, crumbs and tea dripping from your hands as you shrugged comically.  
Your situation and current predicament had him chuckling again. And this time, when your favorite barista tossed you her towel, you caught it. And this time you didn’t slowly awaken from a fog from his touch, so you soaked in every detail of his exquisite face as quickly and efficiently as you could. Analyzing every curve, counting the freckles gracing his cupid’s bow above his lip, looking at the stray hairs on his temple that had escaped from his eyebrow. And that’s when you discovered how utterly beautiful he was.  
His eyes were scanning your face, watching as yours travelled over his skin, goosebumps alighting on his neck as your eyes roved downwards. Neither of you had yet spoken, and as the intensity between you two increased, you again discovered that you were in the doorway by an angry shove to a grouchy man you saw a couple times a week. He seemed to not note your identity, as he roughly pushed past you to access the door.  
“Hey, watch it!” Your green-eyed stranger proclaimed. He then attempted to guide you out of the way with a firm hand on your elbow, repeating what had happened a few days prior. This time, however, your senses were heightened. So you felt his blood pumping underneath his fingertips, causing your heart to accelerate in tune with his. You guided yourself the rest of the way to a small table, his hand slowly sliding away from your body.  
You took a seat in the worn wooden chair, glancing back and forth between your stranger and the chair sitting opposite you. Hesitant to speak, worrying that you’d break the spell you both seemed under, you cleared your throat audibly, swallowing your nervousness and anxiety down into your stomach. Oh no, you felt nauseous…  
“It seems we’re even now, eh?” Your stranger started, settling comfortably into the chair across from you. His drink had been jarred in your exchange and he wiped the spilled beverage on the front of his shirt. Following your eyes, he looked downwards and said “well, it’s ruined, so might as well clean myself with it, right?”  
The way his eyes lighted up had yours doing the same and made you open your mouth to speak. Although, you nearly wished you hadn’t as a babbling stream of fragments spewed out.  
“I’m so sorry, let me pay you for the shirt, and I’ll buy you a new coffee. My shirt was barely any money at all, and yours looks like good quality, not great, but good enough to actually be worth something, you know? Which my shirt definitely wasn’t, and I know how cute it looked and it was a new favorite and everything but it doesn’t really matter, it was just a thing. Oh man, sometimes I care about things too much, it bothers me when I think about it. What if I had less things, would I be happier? Would you? Well, I guess you have one less thing because that shirt is good and ruined…” You trailed off eying his coffee and blueberry stained garment. Finding yourself looking at his broad chest. And getting very distracted indeed.  
He ducked his head slightly to capture your eyes in his own, shaking his head lightly in humorous disapproval of your tangent.  
Expecting something about how much his shirt was worth and that he’d only accept cash, you were instead surprised with a “can I buy you a new drink?”  
To which after you recovered your shock, you nodded vigorously, telling him which kind and politely asking for a blueberry scone to accompany it.  
You watched him order, affectionately talking to your barista about your drink purchase, and telling a tall tale with very animated hands, making the small frazzled girl blush. So, it wasn’t just you under his captivating spell. You couldn’t decide if that made you feel better or worse.  
In a small moment of self-indulgence, you decided worse.  
He returned with a plate and your scone, eying the counter where your drinks would go, and fleetingly glancing at you in moments between.  
You picked lightly at your snack, unable to really chow down on it (you ate like an animal and didn’t want to scare this mystical man away just yet).  
A couple minutes of awkward silence later, he stood fluidly, grabbing your two drinks and sitting back down. He leaned back in his chair after dragging your tea forcefully across the length of the table, emphasizing the distance between the two of you. Which admittedly started feeling like too much.  
He coughed slightly and began with, “so, you live around here?”  
Determined to not ramble on again, you replied with a short curt response: “yeah, I work just down the street and live a ten minute drive from here. You new to the neighborhood?” You desperately hoped that he was.  
Keeping his eyes glued to yours, nearly distracting you from his words with their strong green hypnotizing effect, he spoke slowly and deeply, “no, I’m just here on business for a few weeks. However, now I’m starting to wish it was longer…”  
He trailed off, licking his lower lip before bringing his coffee to his mouth, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. Man, this guy knew how to keep eye contact.  
You looked down, suddenly bashful from his piercing gaze, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and glanced at your watch.  
You stood up abruptly, you had been absent from work for far too long. Nearly knocking the table over in the process, you simply said, “I have to get back,” as he stood in a fluid motion, watching you try to frantically gather your things.  
“Wait, hold on!” He said forcefully, “can we have dinner or something? Anything?” He looked at you hopefully, determined to see you again.  
You nodded once, too shocked by his forwardness to speak. He reached into his back pocket for a small black leather wallet, pulling out a business card with rounded corners, as if it had been stored there for quite some time.  
As he handed it to you, your hands touched. And your eyes suddenly connected with his. You searched his face for a reaction to the contact, but he was unusually composed. His animated face was held purposely blank.  
You both walked out of the shop together, him grabbing the door for you, as his hand glanced across your back to prop it open, and parted ways after one long lingering glance, turning different directions down the sidewalk.  
Safely settled back into your office cubicle after devouring your scone in one inhale, you chanced a glance at his business card.  
“Jensen Ackles - Actor, the CW”  
And it hit you, no wonder you recognized his face.


	3. Part 3

You flipped the card over in your hand once more, fraying the edges slightly, not that it would make much of a difference, the card that was bent at the corners from residing in Jensen’s wallet were now completely torn off, the card slowly closing in on itself as you picked away at the material.

You wanted to call or email him, you honestly did. But a quick trip to the internet had you confirming what you thought, he was married. And had a beautiful little girl with the woman. Not that you particularly liked kids, but hell, did you honestly think that man could make anything less than perfect? Probably not.

So, that left you questioning…. What did he want from you? Just to talk? Offer you a job? Why did he give you the card? Clearly it was worn, so it wasn’t like he gave out his card often. And obviously he intended to give it to you, it was no mistake. So… Why?

You stared at the card again. This was getting ridiculous. You were slowly falling behind on your work, absentmindedly twirling the card between your fingers instead of focusing on the screen and numbers before you. Why couldn’t you get this man off your mind? You’d seen him before, absolutely. You’d watched the show and been involved in a group of people online who’d also loved it.

But he was quite different in person. He wasn’t like his character. You’d seen some convention videos, absolutely. But it almost seemed as though he kept up a front, as though being behind cameras turned him into his character, like a second skin he’d gotten so used to wearing it frayed at the heels like worn in denim.

You thought you caught glimpses of who he was, when interacting with the costars he was close with. But didn’t that also seem a bit like a front too?

Crap. The longer you thought about him the more questions you had. You were a curious person at heart, and you couldn’t go weeks without getting an answer you were searching for. At least not usually. This time was different. Everything was different with him.

How long did he say he was here for, again? You remembered the conversation but had forgotten the words. His touches and his warm body close to yours were forever imprinted in the nerves running throughout you, but your ears had forgotten the words, just remembered the deep rumble of his voice as it coiled something tight deep in your gut.

You picked up your office phone for not the first time, clicked it shut again onto the cradle. Your paranoia sunk in, what if he was a bad person? What if he was capable of things… Horrible things? But he’d given you his card, you reasoned. Still….

You decided then that you were going to call him after work at the pay phone at the gas station while you filled up. That seemed reasonable, right?

Shaking your head and muttering to yourself, you furrowed your brow in concentration. Great, all set, then.

Concentrating on your work was hard that afternoon, constantly wanting to check on the card tucked safely away in your purse, and just as frequently wanting to chuck your purse out the window and hope the card flew out into oblivion in the process.

Essentially, you didn’t get a lot done.

When everyone started packing up for the day, you followed suit and escaped out of the office with your peers. Making your way to your car, you dropped your keys, only to notice your hands were shaking as you bent to pick them up.

Sliding into your car, you rested your head against the steering wheel, wondering to yourself why you were so nervous, it wasn’t like a lot rested on the conversation you were going to have, right?

…. Right?

Making your way to the gas station, you almost veered into a couple people and nearly ran over a pedestrian, but you made it there okay. Barely. You filled up the car and went to park it near the store adjacent to the gas meters.

Pulling the card out of your wallet, you shakily picked up the payphone and slid in a couple cents, almost hoping it wouldn’t work. But when you punched in the number it began ringing.

And ringing.

And ringing.

Finally. A new sound. “Hey, it’s Jensen. Sorry I’m not here right now but if you could leave a message or shoot me an email if you’ve got it I’d really appreciate it,” a short deep chuckle then and a garble heard in the background. Some child shrieking and then a cut off “cya” before a slight beep and static.

Oh crap, you were leaving him a message. You managed out a startled gasp before slamming the phone down on the holder with shaky fingers. Clasping your hands to your chest, you undid your dress shirt a little, allowing your suddenly flushed face and neck to cool. Wow, that was intense.

You remained in the booth for a minute, your back against the cool glass, not caring about the graffiti probably transferring to your nice work shirt. Alas, another ruined. This was standard. You had just caught your breath when a shrill ring caught your attention. Glancing at the pay phone you realized that’s where the noise had come from.  
Your heart quickened and your calm breathing was lost to a startled gasp. You couldn’t call a pay phone back, could you? Obviously you could on this one because it was still screaming in your face.

You hesitantly picked up the phone without saying a word. But your world shifted as you heard a breathy deep reply come down the line.  
“Is that you? The girl from the coffee shop? God, I never got your name. I should have. Then I could have looked you up. I thought you lost my card or I’d given you an old one with the wrong info.” A pause, a subtle scratching of stubble heard over the line. “Hello?”


	4. Part 4

You breathed laboriously into the phone, hearing his muffled excited breathing as he waited for you to respond. You opened your mouth slightly, an idea for something to say, and shut it again briefly, unsure of how to proceed. You did this a few more times, until probably minutes had passed, although your perception of time seemed slightly skewed right now. 

“Okay, so I know it’s you, nobody else would stay on the phone this long if they’ve dialed a wrong number,” he chuckled deep in his throat then, an airy kind of sound, but the deep timbre of it sent ripples down your spine and you shivered involuntarily, accidentally losing your grip on the pay phone, watching it clatter to the ground. 

You stared at it then, dingy and ridiculous, and promptly placed your hand on its holster, pressing down slightly, causing you to hang up. You picked the phone up off the ground, realizing how slimy it was and that you really needed to wash your hands like right now, actually, more like yesterday… Ew. 

Placing it back in its holster, you proceeded into the gas station mart, grabbed yourself a couple bars of chocolate, thanked the pimpled teenage boy who wasn’t really listening to you, and went back to your mundane sedan of a car, settling yourself in, you ate one chocolate bar quickly and dialed Jensen’s number into your phone. You stared at the screen for a while, not yet pressing the call button, just staring at the numbers, dissecting them. What a strange chance, what a strange coincidence that these lucky numbers would be used to form a way to contact a man that was almost godly and ungodly in his appearance. 

You worked up your courage for the millionth time that day, and pressed the call button and then speaker, so you could settle the phone in your lap while you reached for your second consoling chocolate bar.

He picked up almost right away, with a curt “Jensen Ackles,” that sounded too gruff and too disappointed for you to not feel bad, somehow insinuating immediately that your refusal to speak on the payphone had caused his change in mood. That both excited you and made you feel extremely guilty, here was this man (this glorious man), and he was upset that you hadn’t spoken to him, as if you had such an influence on his life; but at the same time, here was this man who seemed to care about your feedback and your actions and you had let him down. 

“It’s me,” you whispered into the air in your car, a mouth full of chocolate and in a tone quiet enough that he may not hear it. But just your luck, either he had super human hearing or he was listening intently to the phone, but he responded. 

“Are you okay?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth, and you felt relief. You thanked all the higher powers you could think of about your split decision at the payphone moments ago, hearing his voice had you utterly convinced that he would never do anything to hurt you, and it validated your use of your own phone to contact him. 

“Yes, I’m fine, I’m sorry, I’m jittery…” you trailed off, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. Man, why did he get you so worked up? Nobody had ever had this effect on you, and you could count on one hand easily the number of times you’d spoken (the answer was three). 

He laughed at your expense then, again. You just sat in your car, listening to his breath as he tried to catch it, listening intently at how he sounded, just listening to him being himself. In retrospect, this moment might have been the first that you knew, knew that he may play an irreplaceable role in your life. Yes, looking back, you knew it then, and that was possibly the reason you had so much fear. 

“I’m glad,” he responded after some time, you could hear the smile in his voice, “spilled more coffee on people since I’ve seen you last?” He sounded both curious and concerned, as if you had found someone like him in exactly the same way, as if he was potentially replaceable. This made you scoff, he was anything but. 

You laughed airily in response, “no, just you, only you,” and you realized how true that was, not that it was only him that you had spilled on, but also that he was the only person to ever speak to you in the coffee shop. Granted, you enjoyed keeping to yourself and aside from your hearty barista, you were usually in and out of there pretty quick without even making eye contact with anyone. 

“Good,” was his curt reply, and an awkward pause ensued. Neither of you had spoken much in your last few encounters, had just both come to the mutual understanding that you didn’t want to stop seeing each other, regardless of the wacky situation that had brought you to this. But you knew deep in your gut that both of you would stay on the line until one of the two of you breached the idea of meeting up again, until you had validation that there would be another encounter. And you honestly didn’t care what the situation was. 

Thinking some more, actually you did care what the situation was, you wanted to sit down with this man, count the freckles on his face, enjoy his company, feel his warmth from his close proximity, and bask in the enjoyment of truly knowing someone, knowing him. You came up with a grand idea then, just as he cleared his throat to keep the conversation going. 

“Dinner,” was all you could punch out of your mouth, but you swallowed the lump in your throat and forged onwards, “you bring food, raw goods, whatever you like, and I will make a meal out of it” (you read about it in a magazine once). 

He breathed deeply, “I’d love that,” a pause, “when?” 

“Whenever you’d like,” came out of your mouth before you could stop it. This man influenced you, in ways you hadn’t really been prepared for. You were worried your eagerness and forwardness would deter him, but it appeared to do quite the opposite.

“I’d like right now,” he said quickly, sounding a bit flustered. “But I’m kind of in the wrong country, I’ll be back next week, how about next Tuesday, is that okay?” Jensen sounded worried again, as if that was too long, as if you would disappear and slip through his grasp before that time arrived. 

Smiling to yourself, thinking about spending time with him, uninterrupted, planned, you almost forgot to respond, “okay, yes, okay,” stumbled out of your mouth. Wow, you really needed to work on speaking properly around this man. That was your to do list before next Tuesday, somehow become immune to his presence without actually seeing him. 

“I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you then, okay?” and you nodded into your lap, before realizing he couldn’t hear you, and bid him a good day before he hung up the phone. You shut off your little cell, and proceeded to make your way home. 

You found yourself on your couch, time had passed, and you didn’t remember driving home, much less parking the car and making your way up to your small and cozy apartment. Staring around your tiny home and the angle of the light hitting the walls, you could determine that some time had passed, and coming back into awareness had you rushing to complete your evening chores, preparing yourself a small meal from the leftovers you housed in the freezer for this kind of occasion and feeding Gimli before he could throw too much of a temper tantrum at you. He was already scowling at you from atop the fridge, his tail waggling angrily back and forth, hitting the wall with much more force than you’d expect he’d be able to produce. Rolling your eyes and grabbing your meal from the microwave, you snatched your phone up and prepared to catch up on your daily news. 

“Can’t wait” was waiting for you on your phone, a small smiling emoticon placed next to the text, from a seemingly unknown number. But upon closer inspection, you recognized it, the number you had been staring at for the past few days and the number you had just dialed, you could feel his laughter through the text, could feel the anticipation he felt and how it affected you too. And you knew then that there was no way you could ever forget his number, no, not Jensen Ackles’ phone number.


	5. Part 5

Your nails looked awful. Not only had you taken to chewing them down to the base, but you also had managed to rip apart your cuticles and pick at nonexistent marks. Were you nervous? Pssh, no….

Okay, maybe… Maybe a little nervous. But who wouldn’t be? Jensen Ackles was coming over to eat food. Like, soon. Like, tomorrow. And it was that exact reason why you were sitting in a nail salon, the small elderly lady inspecting your nails and shaking her head at you, complaining about the state of your nails and muttering under her breath in a foreign language you didn’t recognize. You picked up some English words amidst the rapid jumble of foreign terms, such as “lazy,” “fool,” and your favourite thus far - “manly lady.” You decided to let her rant, not a new argument for you, hearing the same rules for taking care of your nails from your mother in your head, matching her snarky tone and envisioning her unimpressed scowl.

Deciding to distract yourself from all the rants your mother gave you, you picked up a gossip magazine from the table next to you. Flipping through it you landed on page 97, and a photo of Jensen stared straight back at you. He looked different in print, his jaw was more defined, it seemed to be chiseled to the point where you could see all the slight deformations of the bone of his jaw, it looked sharp…. And dangerous. You stared at the picture for a few more moments, and were suddenly awestruck at the situation you were in. Him? You glanced up in the mirror before looking at his photo once more. He liked you? You studied your reflection in one of the mirrors that surrounded you, staring at the small features of your face that you thought he might be attracted to. You tilted your head to the side and squinted your eyes slightly to get a different perspective of yourself. 

Nope, still plain.

You frowned to yourself and tossed the magazine to the side, you didn’t like thinking of Jensen that way, as something instead of someone. You decided instead to scroll through the brief conversations the two of you had been having. Neither of you were too keen on text messages, but would instead send brief acknowledgements indicating that you were thinking of each other or send photos of the day’s ongoings. You scrolled through the conversation before you found what you were looking for.

Jensen had sent you a photo of the set he was on, a small waterfall framed behind him on an overcast day. You examined the picture minutely, you had stared at it enough so that every time you shut your eyes you saw the image, but you continued to look on, delighting in the new details you noticed each time you’d glanced upon it. He was in costume still, layers upon layers covered his frame and his right shoulder bunched the fabric considerably as he was holding up his phone. His head was tilted slightly to the side and he was leaning back, as though he was trying to get as little of him and as much of the scenery into the photograph - but you preferred looking at him. A lot more. And there he was, smiling hesitantly into the lens of his phone, freckles apparent in the low lighting, light catching on the laugh lines that surrounded his mossy eyes. You smiled back at the photo, his toothy grin seemed to always bring out your own every time you glanced at it. 

A low clearing of the throat from the lady across from you had you whipping your head up to discover that your toes were complete and you could leave for the day. You paid quickly, nodding at the woman’s request to take better care of your nails, knowing you wouldn’t. Hopping into your car quickly, you proceeded to make your way home on a damp Monday night. The spa was definitely something you needed after work today, and you were dreading work tomorrow. You loved your job, but you couldn’t focus when your mind was stuck on other things, such as the masculine hands of Jensen Ackles. 

The city was bright, and smelled of the rain that had fallen that afternoon. It masked the low underlying smell of greasy food and gasoline. The street lamps illuminated and hid your dash from sight as you made your way down the thoroughfare home, going under seemingly randomly dispersed lamps, nearly half of them burnt out. 

You made your way into your building and up to your cozy apartment, feeding Gimli and meandering around your home until you decided to just call it a night. Really, you were just working through all possible scenarios that could happen when he opened the door, you had 13 possible occurences so far, including your building being randomly set alight. 

You decided to just curl up in bed instead, thinking that if you were going to over think the next night, might as well do so from your bed! Crawling under the covers, Gimli hopped up to join you.

You decided to send a picture of him to Jensen, he had wanted many pictures of your cat as soon as he’d heard about him. Petting him slowly and digging your hand into his thick auburn fur, you reached over to pick up your phone to snap a picture of him, adding a few “xxx” underneath the photo, you pressed send. Gimli startled at the sound and you chuckled, picking him up and dropping him unceremoniously onto your lap. You nuzzled him breifly, glancing over at your phone, hoping Jensen was still up.

A quick metallic sound from your phone told you that he had responded, and the simple “x” waiting in your inbox made you smile to yourself, finally able to roll over and curl up into bed, Gimli already breathing heavily next to you, finally sure of and ready for what the next day would bring.

You snoozed the alarm one too many times the next morning, desperately hoping to stay in bed for a few more minutes…. Or forever. Jensen wouldn’t come over if you just stopped answering him, right? Or, you could fake some deathly illness and he would steer clear! Speculating many options to avoid your night with him and calm the butterflies flapping violently in your stomach, you couldn’t come up with something plausible that would get him to avoid you indefinitely. Still pondering your options under a thick comforter, your cat mewled helplessly from the kitchen, obviously aware that you were up and destined to get you out the door and through your day. It was almost as though he knew that his howling pissed off your elderly neighbour, because he wa raising his voice slowly octave by octave, enough so that you vaulted out of bed and towards his food bowl to stop his incessant meows.

And thank goodness for Gimli, because once you were up and moving, you functioned on autopilot and proceeded to finish your morning activities with a blank mind (you weren’t thinking of Jensen’s lips and his cupid’s bow, no you weren’t). Forcing yourself to dress for work and not for Jensen, you redid your make up three times before finding the perfect combination between sexy and not trying too hard. Grabbing your keys haphazardly, you propelled yourself out the door and prepared yourself for a frantic day and a mind full of anxieties.

The commute to work was boring. The first hour of work was boring. Checking your emails was boring. Glancing down the hall for your boss every five minutes as you played brickbreaker was boring. All of it was boring. At least that’s what you kept trying to tell yourself as you twitched frantically in your seat. You were shaking your cubicle so much that your co-worker across from you stood up and raised an eyebrow. In order to bother her less, you decided to go to the washroom to wrap your head around your inner monologue (Jensen is coming over, a man is coming over to my house, Jensen wants to see me, Jensen may want to see me) and calmly make your way back to your workstation. 

This happened six times. Eventually, colleagues that were on your path to the workplace had noticed that something was up. So…. That was no longer an option.

Eventually, your co-worker across from you got up and practically pushed you out the door for coffee, saying you were driving her nuts just as much as you were driving yourself off the wall. Walking down the street with her and discussing plans for the rest of the week had your mind off topic for a short while, until you realized that you were heading to the coffee shop where you and Jensen had explosively met. Twice. Your hands started to sweat and you clutched them under your armpits, already damp. What if Jensen was there getting coffee? What if he was sitting down reading or something and you splayed yourself all over his lap in the clumsy way you knew you were capable of? Your friend saw you panic and stopped her monologue of how pointless staff meetings are to raise an eyebrow inquisitively at you. You shrugged and realized you’d arrived at the shop. You forced your way in through the door and held it open, glancing around the shop intently before sighing with relief. You couldn’t wait to see him, but you wanted it to be tonight, on purpose. Purposefully seeing each other by choice. Yes, that was exactly what you were looking forward to.

You ordered your drink with a flippant “the usual” to your favourite handy barista, you earned yourself a wink in response and a discounted beverage. Waiting for your drink, you hoped and prayed that Jensen would walk through the door and also that he wouldn’t. You were anxious. Very anxious. Your colleague ushered you out the door in a half-aware state, nudging you towards the direction of your office building. You pouted and wanted to run home for the rest of the day and be worried in peace, but you followed her path and sat down, twitching and squirming almost instantly.

You didn’t get any work done that day, that was for sure. You had increased your win percentage on solitaire on your computer, and you had in fact organized your portfolio for work and sorted through all the files left haphazardly on your desktop. But your twitching had caused your coworker to peer her head over the cubicle wall two more times and you had ran up three flights of stairs in your dingy office stairwell, and taking the elevator back down for fear of both falling (which was likely) and imminent death due to germs (much more likely). It had gotten to the point where your boss sent you home by wheeling herself out of your office to give you a curt “Y/N, go home, now,” before wheeling herself back in and shutting the door firmly. Yes! You vaulted out of your chair excitedly, packed up what little amount was left over to shove in your bag, and quickly made your way to the parkade to drive home, two hours ahead of the meticulous schedule you had prepared for the night ahead.

Okay, you officially weren’t allowed to drive anywhere within a two day radius of meeting Jensen. New rule. You had to follow it. 100%. You zoned out twice on the road thinking about his dreamy green eyes and how they crinkled when he smiled, and that was a perfectly valid reason to nearly get in a car accident…. Twice. And besides, transit wouldn’t be so bad in your state. Relaxing, able to think about Jensen’s forearms (they were really stupendous), and doze off without having to worry about the bustling traffic at three in the afternoon in your lovely hometown.

Despite this, you stepped into the door of your apartment and were no less frazzled than when you left your office. Peering in your mirror in the hall and around your apartment, you realized that in fact, you apartment was not clean enough for the first time a truly incredible man would be coming over (really the only man who had entered your unit since you moved in was your father). What did Jensen want the place to look like for tonight? Should you hide the four blankets tossed haphazardly onto the back of your couch? Should you put all of your teas in your cupboard? Gimli stared at you as you frantically darted your eyes around your cozy living space, he was probably curious why you were here early and why you weren’t preparing food.

You got changed quickly, smoothed down your hair and retouched your makeup. Then you got to work on your home. You tidied slightly so your clutter was in neat stacks instead of splayed around, you lint rolled the couch and chairs twice, and shooed Gimli off of his pillow on the couch right after you had cleaned it. You were beginning to roll the couch a third time when you heard your buzzer go off. Jensen must be here.

You listened for the elevator after granting him access to the complex, shuffling a little bit in your spot (it was the perfect distance from the door, far enough that it didn’t look like you were waiting anxiously…. Which you weren’t). The elevator dinged and shuddered to a halt on your floor, it opened with a wail that you could mine perfectly, and then you heard him step out. His footfalls were heavy, sounding as if he was in boots instead of dress shoes, and you began to imagine what he was wearing before you realized you would see in seconds. With that, he knocked curtly on your door.

You strode towards the door and pulled it open, it swung forcefully against the wall with your overeager force, and you blushed profusely while Jensen stood there and cracked a grin, laughing at your embarrassment and probably remembering all the other embarrassing things you had done in his presence.  
But he looked absolutely divine standing in your dimly lit hallway, a tight flannel pulled over his shoulder that was rucked up at his hip, carrying a bag that smelt of meat and was overflowing with produce. His jeans were worn in, the shape of his cell phone showing through his front left pocket, and you glanced up before he questioned where your eyes were wandering.

He just stood there, stood in your doorway, watching you as you took him all in, waiting patiently for you to figure out what you needed to. And thank goodness, because so many things were running through your mind all you could focus on was his exposed collarbone tan with wear and weather. You met his eyes then, almost shining with unshed tears, and you reached for the bag in his arms, glancing across his warm body (accidentally) before holding it securely in your arms. He grinned then, and nothing like the smiles you had seen before, a grin straight from his soul that made his whole body look like it was smiling, and then he stepped through your door.


	6. Part 6

When you called your best (and kind of only) friend the next morning, you didn’t exactly know what to tell her.

When she asked you what the date was like, what he was like, you weren’t sure you remembered anything at all.

You remember his forearms, his strength and presence as he stood beside you chopping carrots. You remember how he grabbed your spaz of a cat off the top of the fridge and bowed him into submission in seconds, not dissimilar to how you responded when he poured scalding coffee down your back. You remember his grin when he splashed you with milk as he poured it into the saucepan, and how he had leaned forwards and brushed droplets off your cheek with a rough glance of his thumb.

But what did you remember?

Thinking more and more about it, you didn’t know. You didn’t know what you two had talked about, just that when you leaned against him on the couch his whole body vibrated with his deep chuckles. You didn’t know who had first leaned towards the other, just that you were suddenly too close and his breath fanned your face, smelling sweet and like the meal you had just made him. You didn’t know the actions of your kiss, just that he had felt warm and safe, and like home.

No, wait, you remembered that kiss.

You thought back to the way he had hiccuped in a breathe when you had first leaned towards him. How when you angled yourself to face him better he brought a hand up into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you to him as if he couldn’t believe you were real and couldn’t wish for it to ever end. 

When his lips first pressed against yours with the lightest of pressure you pulled back, shocked by the intensity and scared of his vibrancy. His green eyes stared at you hesitantly, unsure of what he did wrong. But his expression sparked a flame inside you, knowing that this was too good to be true, you decided to take a risk you normally wouldn’t take. 

You pulled your hand up to his cheek, felt the stubble there that he claimed he had to let grow out for his show, wrapped your hand around to the back of his neck. Your other hand pulled at the hem of his shirt, drawing him closer, before you reconnected. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat there, just kissing. Your positions changed slightly, he pulled you closer, your legs tangled with his, one dangled over the edge of the couch and the other tucked securely under you, making the both of you the same height. But that was all, he didn’t force himself upon you, didn’t lie you down or bring you into your room, just let the two of you be. 

And that’s almost exactly what it felt like, just being. Just the two of you, being. 

Eventually, Gimli jumped onto your lap, giving you a scare, and weaseled his way in between you and Jensen, making Jensen laugh and your devilish cat give you a smirk of satisfaction. You haphazardly brushed at him, paying attention to Jensen and the way his eyelashes fell over his cheeks when he looked down, and the way in which he seemed entirely engrossed in whatever he was currently doing. 

“Y/N? Y/N?” Your friend was chattering at you on the other line, you weren’t aware you had zoned out. But, in all fairness, thinking about his eyelashes would do that. 

“Crap, Beth, sorry,” you exclaimed, trying your hardest to not drift off into oblivion by grabbing a bowl for your cereal. “What were you saying?”

She sighed in exasperation, “I was saying, what did you make for dinner?” 

That statement brought a smirk across your face. You had told your dear friend your idea for the date, and Jensen did not disappoint. He showed up with cream sauce, carrots, and bowtie pasta noodles. That was it! You cheated a little bit and made carrot muffins for dessert and just used the sauce and pasta for your meal (with some leftover chicken in the fridge), but still, you were proud of yourself. 

You explained to your friend the food he had bought and what you had done with it, skipping out on the part where you hadn’t actually made it to the dessert, just lounged on the couch talking about nothing (like how he got the scar under his chin they covered up with make up every shoot, how he hated burgers but had to eat them for the show all the time, and how he always wanted a dog but his coworker Jared’s were basically his half the time anyways). 

His company was delightful, that much was sure. You wished that the two of you could have kept talking, but he needed to catch a flight to some little town in the States for work in the morning, and when he left around midnight it felt like he had just walked in the door. You couldn’t get enough of the way his fingers flexed as he moved them, the sinew and bone clear under his hands; or the way that he seemed to relax when he sat down, seeming tense and ready for anything while he stood. 

But also... You were worried. He was a celebrity star, someone people wanted to be with, so why was he pursuing something with you? Also, it made you wonder about if he still wanted something with you after talking for so long. 

You knew that spending time around him, close enough that you could pick up on his body heat, being able to smell him as he walked past, a scent that seemed both natural and artificially spicy, you knew you could never get enough of that. Hell, you knew you could never get enough of that the moment his hand grasped your elbow weeks ago. But, did he? Could he get enough? 

You were too insecure to ask, you knew you’d find out if he never texted you back, and that would be all you needed to know. But if he did get in touch with you? What then? What would happen?

Your friend listened to you on the phone, let you ramble on, express your feelings and trepidation. You loved Beth, loved the way she listened, loved the way she let you do what you wanted to do, but also was there to offer sound advice as well. 

That is, you loved her until she finally asked the one question you’d hoped she wouldn’t: “So, Y/N, what’s his name?”

“Jensen,” you muttered, knowing she was a fan of the show and heard her sharp intake of breath, “Jensen Ackles.” A scream and a crashing sound on the other end of the line had you knowing that she understood exactly who you were talking about.


End file.
